The Merchant's wife

Every six months, at equinox when the seasons were mildest, the Merchant brought longed for luxuries to the settlement of Whelton: salt and sugar, carpets, blankets and rugs, mirrors and perfumes, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper and sweets. But none were more coveted than the merchant's wife.

Whelton's lone inn, The Two Fat Pigs, was full to bursting and raucous with laughing, singing, and gossip.. A spare, lanky man named Reece owned the Pigs and he directed his team of harried workers among the packed tables. He would make more today than in the next three months, So he worked hard to make sure every hand had a full mug in it all times. Well, he worked his crew hard at least. Farmers and miners from the most distant holdings crammed the benches, laughing and gossiping. Children and dogs got underfoot and had to be shooed away. The atmosphere was relaxed and jovial and it seemed a good time was being had by all.

Except here and there young men around the age of twenty lounged with ferocious and concentrated nonchalance. Barely drinking - to Reece's narrow eyed disapproval - and glancing up at the door with conspicuous frequency.

Outside the two storey and somewhat ramshackle inn was another young man, also on edge, and also about the age of twenty. He watched the road anxiously and wondered how the Merchant timed his arrival so precisely every time. "I bet he waits just outside town until just before sunset, then rolls in just as the light turns gold," he said to himself. He had to give that tactic some grudging respect.

A bearded farmer stopped at the steps to kick mud off his boots. He glanced up to where the young man waited by the door. "Helping out Reece tonight eh, Jen?"

"Uh yeah, pretty busy," said Jen, straightening his apron nervously.

The farmer nodded with a sympathetic and knowing smile. "Never mind, maybe next time." The Merchant's wife wasn't interested in the help. There was a brief eruption and noise and light as the farmer pushed his way inside. Then Jen was alone on the porch once again.

It was almost sunset. "No, this time." Jen whispered to himself.

The caravan arrived, of course, just as the sun kissed the horizon. The towns people crowded out of the inn to see the merchant standing on the lead wagon, arms wide and bathed in a golden glow. "My friends! How wonderful it is to see you again. Come, see what wonders I have brought!"

Jen suspected the Merchant was actually a small player in the wider world of trade and commerce. Who else would come out here to this backwater? But here he was a giant and Jen had to admit, he did put on a good show. With practiced movements his drivers threw the covers off the six wagons and unfolded them into stalls displaying all the fine things that the Merchant had to offer. The crowd surged forward and were soon divesting themselves of the extra money they had been able to scrimp together over the last six months.

A few of the caravan guards kept an eye on the crowds but the rest stormed the inn to be warmly welcomed by Reese. Despite the smaller numbers they more than made up for the townsfolk who were now outside. Forty days on the road and on duty can give a man a powerful thirst.

All of this activity went unnoticed by Jen as he stared intently at the seventh wagon. This one was fully enclosed, an ornate house on wheels, drawn by a team of four horses and easily more spacious than Jen's own quarters (though that wasn't saying much). It was driven by a plump, competent looking woman who brought it up to the entrance of the inn where Jen waited. He gave the driver a slightly sickly grin, "Ma'am. I'm to take the luggage."

The driver nodded to one side, "Round back." Paying him no more mind, her work done, the driver leaned back, opened a small flask and took a long swig.

Jen's heart was in his mouth as he moved to the rear of the wagon. The Merchant's wife had been the mainstay of his daydreams for the last six months. He quickly made another futile effort to straighten his unruly sandy hair. His mouth was dry as he looked up at the gilt door. The handle turned. The door opened and Jen gazed up into the face of... a green skinned orc. He blinked stupidly and gaped, "Buh.."

"The last boy could speak at least," said the orc, looking him over. She was pierced and fierce looking, dressed in studded leather armour with a pair of knives at her belt.

Jen felt his cheeks colour, "I can speak." The bodyguard, he realised. He had seen her before now that he thought about it; orcs were rare in these parts and this one caused quite a stir when she was first spotted in the Merchant's retinue. Jen, however,had always had eyes only for the Merchant's wife. He tried to look past the orc bodyguard into the wagon to get a glimpse her.

"Ok, good. Take these up to her ladyship's rooms." Jen thought he saw something moving in the shadows of the wagon - then a large trunk was dropped into his arms. He clutched desperately at it and staggered but stayed upright. The orc stepped down beside Jen and piled two more bags atop the trunk. He groaned. The orc frowned, "The last boy had a stronger back too."

Jen struggled his way up the back stairs. It was true, the boy whose shift he'd bribed his way into did have stronger back. Most did. Not that Jen was small, it's just the the others had grown up working the land or hauling ore. Jen mostly worked with books and that didn't put a lot of muscle on his arms.

He crested the final stair - surely more than he remembered - and waddled down the hall to the Pigs' finest suite. Breathing heavily he put the trunk and bags down on the floor. He straightened up, stretching out his back, and took a surreptitious look around. The rooms were luxurious by Whelton standards; spacious, if a little plain, a wardrobe and dresser and a huge bathtub. The last a private luxury; regular guests would have to use the common baths downstairs. The bed was wide, but the mattress was bare - the Merchant's wife brought her own sheets.

Seeing no one else about he drew a sealed envelope from his pocket and, heart racing, slipped it into one of the bags. If this went to plan he would join the ranks of the privileged few and earn the respect and admiration of his peers. He had pictured the evening to come a thousand times in his head. After her bath she would descend the stairs in flimsy silks that left so little, yet just enough to the imagination -and Jen had lavished much imagination upon this subject. He pictured dark flashing eyes surveying the now quiet room. Full red lips curled in the tiniest of smiles promising an night unlike any the folk of Whelton could dare hope for. The soft curve of her hips swayed from side to side as she descended. There was a flash of creamy thigh as the slitted skirt parted all too briefly. He saw the bounce of those full breasts with each step - was that a hint of nipple, already aroused? Jen liked to think so. She would look over the eager faces of the town's handsomest, strappingest young men, look past them and ask, "Where is the one called Jensen? Imusthave Jensen."

Jen would step forward, give her the smouldering look he had practiced well and say, "I am he."

She would swoon and clutch the envelope to her bosom, "Your poetry moved me so! I must have you"

Then, strong and silent he would take her upstairs and ravish her with such intensity that she would never take another man but he. This was the part that occupied much of his nighttime visualisations. It usually began with her languid on the bed, an older woman certainly but no less fine for it. He would slowly peel the silks from her to reveal that perfect body. She'd look up and say...

"Don't just stand there with your mouth hanging open like a great goon!"

Jen was jolted back to reality with a start and he spun to see the orc glaring at him.

"There's more to come up. Come on." She put down her own load of boxes and bags and headed back downstairs.

It took two more trips to bring up all of the Merchant's wife's luggage. Jen couldn't figure what all of it was for. The Merchant only ever stayed for two nights and one day. It must have something to do with her secret arts, he thought. The men she had taken in previous visits liked to speak of the impossible pleasures they had received at her skilled hands. They said she had received training at the palace at Alducia in the Prince's harem. They said she could finish a man just by looking at him. They said she knew bright magic that made the night last weeks.

They said great many things. But no one really understood her relationship with the Merchant. He didn't seem to mind her promiscuity or even to spend any time with her. Some speculated that she would use her skills to help facilitate important deals. Others that the Merchant preferred the embrace of men and the marriage was just for show. Perhaps it was both.

It was a strange situation, but the otherwise chaste and proper townsfolk overlooked it as the influx of luxuries was quite fine and anyway, he was a strange foreigner with stranger ways and could not be expected to behave ike right, sensible folk.

What was sure was that she always bathed immediately after she arrived and so Jen stood by two huge kettles of water heating over an open fire. He chewed his nails while he waited. Had his envelope been found? Was it being read even now? He had a horrible thought, perhaps the Merchant's wife was used to the finest wordsmiths in the land and was even now laughing at his feeble attempts?

Soon the water was hot enough and Jen had stewed himself into an anxious mess, but with padded gloves he wrestled the kettles onto a shoulder pole and hauled them slowly and painstakingly upstairs.

He finally reached the door to the Merchant's wife's room and grimaced. He was halfway to exhausted already, what if he couldn't perform?

"Your lips speak sultry promises," came a voice. Jen froze.

"Your touch a hot caress." A woman's voice. The Merchant's wife!

"I am lost in your eyes." This was his poetry, she was reading his poetry.

"My heart beats within your breast," spoke the silky voice, it was just as he had imagined! "Oh my, Jenson, you've quite got me going."

Jen's face split into a grin, it was working!

"Thank you my lady." A man's voice. "You, uh, inspire me." Jen dropped the kettles with a clang and a splash of hot water. In a flash the door opened just enough to admit the scowling but still handsome face of Regus Patra. Jen gaped, not immediately grasping what was going on. "Piss off, Stains," Regus hissed, "She's chosen me."

"But... my poems," Jen said

Regus grinned, "She might fancy your flowery words, but it's this she's after." He gestured to himself, tall, well muscled and good looking. His face hardened, "Beat it! Or you'll regret it later." The door slammed shut.

Jen took two unsteady steps back and slumped against the wall, nursing his shattered hopes.

"Ouch,"

Jen turned to see the orc bodyguard leaning in the doorway of a room opposite. "I was about to toss him back out the window he climbed in," she said, "but her ladyship asked if he was the poet. He said yes. Points for quick thinking at least." She gave Jen a rueful smile, "So you're Jensun huh?"

Jen straightened up, attempting to cover his disappointment with a scowl, "Just Jen."

The orc nodded, "Nerazuchak. C'mon, I'm going for a drink. You look like you could use one too."

The Two Fat Pigs was quieter now. The townsfolk had gone home and many of the caravaners had drunken themselves under the table. One pair was still going strong, the driver Jen had talked to earlier and one of the guards. They were propping each other up by the fire and competing to see who could sing the loudest and most off key. It was a close contest.

On the far side of the room Jen sat with the orc, Nerazuchak. There were the remnants of a meal in front of them and more than a few empty mugs. The orc burped. "Ah, that's better. Nothing like a good meal and a drink to wash one's worries away, right Jen?"

Jen managed a wan smile.

Nerazuchak sighed and leaned back to look down at herself, "Working for the Merchant's wife is making me soft."

Jen peered at her, "You don't look soft." And she didn't. A good hand taller than Jen, her bare arms were well toned and her thighs looked strong. She had a piercing through each eyebrow and a great many in her pointed ears. With the armour and knives the effect was intimidating. He tilted his head to one side, maybe there were some soft bits, but under the armour who could tell.

She flexed one arm, "Look at this. Soft! I used to have proper muscles. Go on, touch it."

Jen poked at her arm, it was firm and had a network of scars criss-crossing it., 'Pfft, hard as nails!" He rolled up his sleeve and flexed his own pale arm, "Now that's soft."

Nerazuch tested Jen's bicep between thumb and finger, "Not too bad, could use a little work. But I'll show you proper soft." She pulled up the front of her tunic to reveal her belly, a much paler green than the colour of her arms and with another piercing through her navel. She pushed it out, "See what I've become!"

Jen gave it a slap, "Lean and taught," he dismissed, "I'll showyousoft!" He stood, turned and slapped himself on the rear, "Time to bring out the big guns!"

The orc snorted with laughter and gave his rump a playful grab, "Oh wow, that is soft! Ok, ok you win, you're the softest." She took a drink from her mug, "I guess working for a wizard isn't that taxing."

Jen couldn't help but smile, "Melimar's not a wizard, I told you, just a crazy old hermit. And he's pretty much harmless."

"And you look after his spell books."

"They're just regular books. He studies plants and makes medicine. I take notes and make illustrations. And tend the chickens. And make meals. And a hundred other things. But you won't find a better library this side of the capital."

Nerazuchak flashed him a grin, showing off her distinctive oversize canines, "So why'd that guy call you Stains."

Ren held up his hands, "Inky fingers," he said. No matter how hard he washed, there was still the faintest traces of the ink he made and used in the ridges of his fingers.

Nerazuchak squinted at them, "Look clean enough. But as for me... well, this long on the road makes for a stinky orc. What say you prepare one of the baths for me?"

"Uh, I did mention that I don't really work here?"

"Yeah, yeah, all part of your cunning plan to win the Merchant's wife, I know. You'd do it as a favour for your old pal Nera though. Right?"

Jen put on a fine show of sighing and grumbling but got to his feet all the same.

To be honest, Jen thought the common bath rooms were nicer than the tub the Merchant's wife had. Reece, for all his penny pinching, ran a tight inn and the baths were spotless. The wooden floor was level with the top of the tubs so it was like stepping down into a warm pool. During busy times, like the Merchant's visit, Reece would have the huge copper tank in the corner filled and kept hot all day. Most of the Merchant's retinue would make use of the baths so the staff were kept busy keeping the tank full, the fire stoked and the tubs scrubbed.

Jen angled the sluice to the biggest of the three tubs, opened the tap on the tank and watched it slowly fill with steaming water.

The door opened and Jen looked up to see Nera backing into the room. She had removed the armour and knives and now wore a simple but well made knee length robe tied at the waist. She was carrying a large folded towel and a small bag which she placed on the bench that ran around two sides of the room. From this bag she selected a small vial, unstopped it and poured a measure of liquid into the filling tub.

As Jen watched the water foamed and turned a milky colour. "A sort of liquid soap," said Nera, "All part of my growing softness. Being in the Merchant's employ really is spoiling me."

"Looks pretty nice actually," Jen said. The water pouring into the tub slowed to a trickle. It was not yet two thirds full. Jen frowned, "Seems your fellow caravaners used up all the water. I'll get some more."

When Jen returned, labouring under the weight of two big kettles, he found the orc's robe discarded on the floor and Nera already in the tub. She was humming to herself as she soaped her arms with a sponge. Her hair, previously tied up in an austere folded ponytail was now let loose in a dark shoulder length bob. Jen saw that her shoulders were freckled, a smattering of darker green spots and her chest was the same pale colour as her stomach. Jen froze, the water wasn't deep enough to cover the swell of her breasts and though the opaque water hid much of them from sight he still found himself staring.

Nera looked up, "Ah, sorry, I couldn't wait." She gave him a look, "Well, why don't you fill me up!" When Jen didn't move she drew her knees up to her chin, spoiling Jen's view, "Down that end so it doesn't burn me." She gestured to the end of the tub where her feet had just been. Jen dutifully upended the kettle into the tub. Nera gave a little shudder when the hot water flowed around her, "Mmmm, s'nice." She stretched back out with a sigh, but now the water was up to her collarbone and modesty was preserved.

Jen busied himself by emptying the second kettle into the copper tank and stoking the fire. That small glimpse of the orc's body had been strangely unsettling. He had hardly even thought of her as a woman until a moment ago. He straightened up, "Well, you should be all set. Is there anything else you need?"

Nerazuchak eyed Jen for a moment. "Well maybe you could do my back for me... while you're here. If you like."

Jen hesitated, "Uh, okay. Sure." He moved over to kneel by the tub. Nera handed him a sponge then she leaned forward over drawn up knees and rested her chin on folded arms, revealing a back freckled like her shoulders and scarred like her arms. "Thanks," she said, "Always nice to be looked after for a change."

Jen dipped the sponge into the water and began soaping the orc's back. The colour of her skin was strange to Jen, like leaves in autumn just starting to turn. It was darker on her shoulders and arms and became a brighter green where she would usually be covered by clothes. All over were myriad scars, most small, a few large. "So many scars," he said absently.

Nera snorted, "You should try growing up with orcs, see how pretty you end up."

"No, I didn't mean it like that, they make you seem," he traced his fingertips along one of the larger scars absently as he searched for the word, "Strange." He felt her tense, "No, wrong word!" He instinctively grasped her shoulders and kneaded his thumbs into her upper back where the muscles were tightest, "I mean, mysterious... like you have an exotic story and I want to find out what it is." He felt her relax slightly and so did he.

Nera chuckled, "That's right, wooing the girls with your fancy words."

"You liked my poetry?" Jen leaned forward.

Nera hesitated and squinched up her face, "Actually, it was..."

"Pretty soppy, I know," Jen laughed and rolled his eyes.

Nera snorted a laugh, "So mushy!"

Jen feigned hurt, "It was tailored for a specific audience. Obviously if it was for you it would be all about guts and swords and burps..." He was interrupted by a splash of water.

Nera glared, "If your done flapping your lips for a few seconds you can get back to that rubbing thing you were doing."

Jen smirked and wiped water from his eyes, "At once, m'lady."

"I'm no lady," the orc muttered, moving to her previous position.

Jen resumed working her muscles with firm fingers, first her neck and shoulders, moving from upper back to lower spine. His hands traced her sides, down strong lateral muscles, to a narrow waist and below the water over the curve of her hips. His hands slid back up. Daring, he let them move further around where the muscle gave way to softer flesh until his fingertips grazed the lower curve of her breasts. She shifted and Jen pulled his hands away guiltily. The orc arched her back and stretched her arms over her head, "Guess your soft hands are good for something after all."